


Escape Route

by Llama1412



Series: Underground Railroad [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:14:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23307673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: When Arthur realized Merlin was magic, he decided that when the time comes and Merlin is discovered, Arthur wants to be able to protect him. In order to ensure Merlin and other magic users' safety, he approaches the Druids with an idea to create an underground railroad escape route out of Camelot.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Underground Railroad [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676164
Comments: 8
Kudos: 133





	Escape Route

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on livejournal in Jan 2011. Posted unedited.  
> Notes: Names for characters gotten from these sources: http://medievalscotland.org/problem/names/morgan.shtml, http://www.s-gabriel.org/names/tangwystyl/welsh13.html  
> The name Wylt is from the bard, Myrddin Wylt, who served as the prototype for the legendary figure of Merlin.

Caring too much was a fatal flaw, his father told him the night his playmate was beheaded for sorcery. All it did was bring you pain in the end, he was told.  
  
Arthur was rather ashamed to admit that at seven years old, he thought his father knew everything. Coupled with the betrayal he'd felt towards someone he'd considered to be a friend, he took his father's words to heart. He forced himself to stop caring, forced himself to ignore the screaming widows, forced himself not to flinch every time another execution was announced. Only criminals were executed. There was no reason he should feel any sort of sympathy for them.  
  
Then Morgana came along. Morgana, who always took the sorcerers' side, claiming that there was nothing treasonous about encouraging crops to grow or fixing a little girl's broken doll and that there was no reason for sorcerers to receive the same punishment inflicted upon murderers and traitors.  
  
Morgana taught him that maybe his father wasn't infallible, that maybe it was all right to care, as long as you didn't show it. She taught him that maybe sorcerers were people too and that it was okay to pity them, as long as that was all he did. He could pity them, he could hope for a quick death for them, but he could never betray his father, never do anything to help the 'evil sorcerers'.  
  
And then Merlin showed up and ruined everything. With that spark in his eye and that strange air around him, he burst into Arthur's life and rearranged the framework. He demanded that Arthur show his feelings, that if he was mad, he expressed it; if he cared, he should say. And Arthur did. Not directly, not always. His father's teachings were too ingrained for that. But he learned. When they were alone, he could show his worry. He could rage about insignificant matters and Merlin would indulge him. And eventually, Merlin learned too. He learned about Arthur's upbringing. He learned what Arthur couldn't say and how to recognize it anyway. He learned that Arthur cared about him... and then it went to hell.  
  
There had always been something about Merlin that eluded him, something that made him feel strangely safe and nostalgic. It wasn't until he was standing up to his father, protesting Merlin's latest punishment (for lying to the King. Again.) that he realized what it was.  
  
"You care about that boy too much," his father spit out. "How can you expect to rule a kingdom when you'll let a fool undermine your authority and take advantage of your obvious weakness?" His father glared at him, clearly expecting a reaction to the accusation of a weakness, but Arthur merely blinked at him as puzzle pieces began to fall into place.  
  
The boy he'd played with as a child, he'd had an air about him, like he couldn't be caught, nothing could hold him back. He'd been wrong, of course. His father's guards had far outmatched the child, magic or no, and that confidence had been trampled.  
  
But Arthur remembered it. And he remembered the aura he'd sensed around Merlin the first time they'd met, like Merlin could rule the world if only he wanted to. That sense had dimmed with his time in Camelot, tempered by caution and fear, but it was there, quite clearly, in Arthur's memories. It was there in those strange moments where Arthur felt like he was missing something big, where he thought that maybe his manservant wasn't as much of a simpleton as he seemed. And now he knew what it was.  
  
Magic.  
  
Gods, it could get Merlin killed! What on earth was the idiot doing in Camelot, dancing around the royal family for gods' sake?  
  
"Arthur?" His father's sharp voice brought him back to reality where he discovered that he'd been staring blankly at his father, fists clenched and breath coming in harsh pants.  
  
It occurred to him then that his father would expect him to report his enlightenment immediately. Merlin and his magical influence could be removed from his life as quickly and as efficiently as his playmate's had.  
  
"Arthur? What the devil is the matter with you?"  
  
Arthur gazed up at his father's stern face and remembered. He remembered his father telling him that caring too much would only hurt him. He remembered Morgana arguing with a passion for the life of a boy she hardly knew. He remembered Merlin rallying against his father, against the world, for no other reason than because Arthur had asked him to.  
  
He licked his lips. "My apologies, Father. My mind wandered."  
  
His father leveled him with an assessing glare. "Go to the physician. Get him to check your head; clearly something isn't right. And Arthur? Your manservant will remain in the dungeons for a week. Perhaps after, he will recall where his loyalties lie."  
  
Arthur bowed his head obediently. Merlin's loyalties lay with Arthur. Even his father had recognized that, it seemed, if he was being let off so lightly. And Arthur understood: the king couldn't let his people get away with defying him, no matter how much devotion they may show to the prince. And a week in the dungeons was nothing, really. Arthur'd been in there himself for longer. Granted, he'd had a much nicer cell than he guessed Merlin warranted, but still. Dungeon. That was nothing compared to execution.  
  
Arthur began planning.  
  
\--  
  
Arthur rode out the evening after Merlin was thrown into the dungeons. He'd told his father that Gaius had prescribed time away from court, effective immediately. Uther had given him an odd look and Arthur knew he'd be getting in trouble when - if - he returned for lying about orders from the Court Physician, but it was the best excuse he could think of. He needed to get out of the castle. His plan depended on finding people who would be interested in protecting a sorcerer. He just hoped he could talk fast enough to make his case before they killed him. In case they refused to listen, Arthur had left a note and money tucked away with his jewelry for Merlin to find. No other servant was trusted to handle his jewelry and Merlin had no reason to unless ordered, so he wouldn't find it before Arthur returned. If, however, Arthur did not return, Merlin would have to fetch his coronet to return to his father. Arthur could only hope that Merlin would have the sense to heed his note and get to safety somewhere outside of Camelot.  
  
In the meantime, Arthur would concentrate on staying alive. He hadn't stopped by to see Merlin before he'd left, preferring to remember the idiot as he'd been that morning, careless and happy, rather than the Merlin that was stuck in the dungeons, spiteful and frightened. Now, when Camelot's turrets were but a speck over the treetops, he rather regretted that. If he didn't come back, Merlin would probably hate him for it.  
  
"Good reason to come back alive, then," Arthur told himself. His horse brayed at him in confusion and he grinned.  
  
He didn't really know where he was going, exactly, which didn't bode very well. He just had to hope that luck would come through for him. It seemed to do that often enough although, looking back on it, that could've been largely Merlin's influence. Still, maybe Merlin's presence in his life meant that Lady Luck was favoring him. Hopefully.  
  
He spurred his mount into motion, heading vaguely west. Back in the midst of the purge, there was a section of land cordoned off, a sort of no man's land in Camelot where neither the Knights of Camelot nor the Druids were supposed to tread. Past that, the Druids ran free. This fact had caused much agony during Arthur's childhood, as Uther had constantly tried to push the Druids back further and further and only wound up with a larger casualty list. Finally, Gaius and other advisers convinced his father to back down and negotiate a treaty with the Druids to keep peace.  
  
This was all well and good. It gave Arthur a direction to head, a goal to work towards. Unfortunately, part of the treaty was the Knights of Camelot had never been allowed to map the area. Also, the Druids were likely to kill him on the spot, if not for trespassing, then probably for his birthright.  
  
Still, he had to try to get them to help. For Merlin.  
  
\--  
  
He'd been riding for three days before he passed the markings leading out of Camelot and into No Man's Land. He rode carefully, trying to maintain an air of confidence. He didn't want to appear as a threat, although that probably wouldn't make much difference. To enter No Man's Land was to present yourself as a threat to the other side. And it took one last day for him to enter Druid territory.  
  
He wasn't wearing Camelot's colors, traveling instead in just his leather and chainmail. He was only lightly armed, carrying his sword and one dagger concealed in his boot. He hoped his attempt to appear nonthreatening wouldn't be the death of him.  
  
Just as he was contemplating this, an arrow flew overhead, missing him by a wide margin. A warning, then. Which, actually, was very risky on their part as it could be construed as an act of war.  
  
Arthur stiffened, fighting the natural impulse to draw his sword. They may be risking the alliance, but he wasn't going to. He needed their help and he wouldn't start a war if he could help it. Instead, he raised one hand, palm up, using his other hand to steady his reins before drawing it up to join the other, slowly so as not to spook the horse or his attackers.  
  
"I mean no harm," he called. "I wish to negotiate peacefully."  
  
There was no response and Arthur could feel his heart sinking. _Please_ , he thought desperately, _please let them listen_.  
  
"What do Pendragons know of peace?" A gravelly voice finally replied.  
  
Arthur flinched. "Perhaps only what they are willing to learn," he said, choosing his words with care.  
  
From the shadows between the trees, an old man hobbled out. He leaned on a cane, his eyes glowing with an odd light. "If Pendragons are capable of learning peace, then we're hardly in a position to protest, are we?" He smiled suddenly. "You, Young Pendragon, will be welcome in Druidic lands while in my presence." He turned and barked something in an odd language and three archers dropped to the ground in front of him.  
  
Arthur blinked. "Thank you," he said hesitantly. "I...wasn't expecting that to go quite so well."  
  
The old man cackled. "I find that people are often surprised around me. I admit to it bringing me great amusement. However, it must be said that normally, your trespass into No Man's Land would be just as unwelcome as ours. Come," he beckoned, "walk with me."  
  
Arthur dismounted warily, moving his limbs with as much control as he could. The three archers let him pass, reins in hand, and closed ranks behind him and the old man.  
  
"My name is Wylt. I am a representative from Caerleon, a Druid settlement not far from here. My Sight extends beyond that of a general range. You found yourself here because I Saw your arrival and the case you have come to plead."  
  
"You...see the future?"  
  
"Correct. And I am amendable to your idea, though others are less so. However, with my support, you are less likely to be killed on sight when we enter Druidic lands."  
  
"Right. Much appreciated. Who, um, who would I need to talk with to, er, present my case?"  
  
"The Council of Elders has agreed to meet with you. They are intrigued that you of all people would approach us with such a thing. However, I regret to say that you are more of a hostage than an emissary of peace."  
  
"But you haven't even disarmed me."  
  
"No, we have not. Your blades are useless in the face of the Elders' control over the powers of this earth. Should you try to test that, you will, of course, be rendered helpless. For the moment, however, we will allow you the comfort your weapons provide."  
  
"Thank you," Arthur intoned, trying not to allow his fear to show. What sort of power could these elders have that a naked blade would be nothing to them? "Forgive me for asking, but if you can see the future, can't you just say beforehand what the council will decide?"  
  
Wylt's lips twisted into a mysterious smile. "The Gift of Sight is not all-encompassing. What the gods will us to See is all that shall be Seen. Perhaps the gods have not yet decided whether or not to grant your request."  
  
"Is that metaphorical or do your elders speak directly for your gods?" Arthur queried.  
  
The three archers behind him jerked forward restlessly, growling darkly, arrows notched and aimed at his heart. Arthur spun, hand immediately flying to the hilt of his sword. He wouldn't have time to draw it, not before they loosed their arrows. Even then, it wasn't likely he'd be able to cut the shafts before they did the damage. He could dodge one, maybe two, but three at once? And from people who could use magic?  
  
Swallowing, he raised his hands once more in surrender. "I apologize. Camelot does not follow the same gods you do. I don't understand your rituals or your beliefs."  
  
"Stand down, young ones," Wylt commanded. "The boy meant us no offense." As soon as the Druids lowered their arms, Wylt turned back to Arthur, dragging him along the path. "You will find, Young Pendragon, that the people of Camelot do indeed follow the teachings of our gods, though Uther would will it otherwise. No matter how he tries, though, he shan't be able to stomp the magic out of this earth."  
  
Arthur shifted uncomfortably. These were no people to defend his father to, especially when Arthur himself was betraying him. Still, Uther was his father and a lifetime of loyalty could not be abandoned so easily.  
  
"However, you have been raised in ignorance, it would seem. Our gods, and, indeed, yours, do not commune directly with us except in times of great need. The gods have ways of conveying their wills without meeting us directly, though."  
  
"I...see. My apologies for the offense, then." Arthur said, honestly not any less confused.  
  
"Accepted. The village is still a ways away, but I'm afraid, Young Pendragon, that the Council has asked that you go blindfolded. Until a decision has been made, it would be best for us if the son of that murderous King could not lead him back to us."  
  
"Of course," Arthur nodded. He was fairly certain he'd be able to defend himself, even without sight, if it came down to it. Besides, they hadn't taken his sword yet. As unsettling as that was in and of itself, he was grateful for its comforting weight at his hip.  
  
Wylt pulled a bag of rough cloth out from a pouch that shouldn't have been able to hold something that big. "If you'll permit me," he said and two of the archers came forward to grasp his arms and guide him. Wylt slipped the bag over his head and the last thing Arthur saw was the third archer taking the reins from Arthur's hand and leading the horse on ahead of him.  
  
\--  
  
Merlin sat curled up in the corner of his cell, head tucked between his knees. All in all, it wasn't any worse than the previous times he'd been stuck in the dungeons. The worst bit was the loneliness and boredom. Usually, when he had nothing to do, he'd practice his magic, but obviously that was out of the question. He'd tried singing drinking songs to himself for a while, but the guards had put a stop to that quickly. Shame, really. Personally, Merlin thought he had a lovely singing voice.  
  
Gaius had been by to visit as often as he could, and Morgana was kind enough not only to stop by, but to send Gwen with meals. Arthur didn't come, though. He shouldn't have been bothered, really, not when all of them had been so considerate. What did it matter that Arthur just up and left after Merlin had been locked up? Why should Merlin care that he hadn't even bothered to visit him?  
  
"Uther's quite unhappy with Arthur now, actually," Morgana commented lightly, as if she wasn't glancing towards the non-existent windows every seven candle marks. "I don't know that he'll punish Arthur - he gets that he might need some time away from court occasionally, but the fact that he lied about it after Uther had had you imprisoned for lying to him...well, it'll be interesting when Arthur decides to come home."  
  
"Has he done this before?"  
  
"Disappeared? Once or twice. Not usually quite like this, though. He'll usually just go on an extended hunt."  
  
"Oh," Merlin said quietly, not raising his head. Was Arthur that mad at him for lying to the King?  
  
"Don't worry about it, Merlin. He's probably just feeling rebellious or some such. Maybe this is his way of protesting your arrest. It's stupid, yes, and not terribly helpful, but Arthur's always been strange about how he acts out. It'll be fine, Merlin."  
  
"Yeah. Thanks."  
  
\--  
  
"The Council of Elders greets Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot. Come before us, Guest, and plead your case."  
  
The bag was torn off of his head and Arthur blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the bright sunlight. A semi-circle of nine perches formed from carved tree stumps stood in front of him. The center three were filled by majestic-looking women, surprisingly beautiful considering their age. The other six were filled by men and women with no real pattern, although the seat on the far right was empty. Wylt, who had previously been flanking Arthur, moved forward to take the empty seat, giving Arthur a nudge and a wink.  
  
Arthur swallowed, took a deep breath, and began, "I come before this Council to ask that the Druids allow refugee magic users from Camelot asylum here. I wish to work with you to create some sort of network to allow magic users safe passage out of my country. I know that our peoples have not gotten along for quite a while now, but I ask for your help to spare more innocents the fates I know many of your families have met."  
  
"Fates they have met at the hands of your father, Pendragon!" One of the elders, sitting on the left hand curve of the assembled horseshoe, rose from her seat, hoarse voice cracking with poorly concealed rage as she spoke.  
  
Arthur clenched his jaw. "Yes, that's true, and I apologize for that. But will you let your anger at my father leave more people to die at his hands? Will you hold me accountable for his crimes at the expense of others who are persecuted?"  
  
"How dare you!? You come here, begging for our help, and accuse _me_ of sentencing people to death?" The woman lunged forward, but a sharp, shouted work from Wylt froze her in place.  
  
"Elders, I address this Council on behalf of our guest. He had come here, genuine of heart, to request our help, not for himself, but for those whom he wishes to protect. He has come here, at risk to himself, when he could have tried to simply do this himself. Instead, he wanted to make sure that the refugees had a safe place to go. It seems to me that this Council would do well to grant our guest's request and save those we can from certain death." Wylt bowed his head deeply to the other Elders.  
  
The other Elders frowned, glancing at each other. "I agree with Elder Wylt's comment," the left-most woman of the middle three said in a lilting voice. "Young Pendragon's heart shines true. He comes here with the desire to protect. I know our past with the Hateful King inclines us to turn our guest away, but to do so in this case would only hurt us later. He comes here with an offer of peace. Are we so belligerent that we would deny his request?"  
  
"You're suggesting we give the son of a murderer the means to find our people? If we grant this request, we will find ourselves overrun by the Knights of Camelot before we know it." The man next to her declared.  
  
"That isn't certain." Another man said, "we've had this treaty for ten years now. The knights may not know our exact position, but they could've overrun this whole area if they had so chosen. They would have taken losses, certainly, as would we've, but they could have done it."  
  
"This is different! Their darling prince would be capable of leading them right to us!"  
  
"Yes, but it's not like we couldn't hide ourselves, should we so choose. It would be difficult, but not impossible. Besides, if we do help this prince, we could save hundred of sorcerers that would otherwise die!"  
  
"Elders! You forget yourselves!" The woman in the middle, who he later learned to be Muirgen, shouted, giving all those who had spoken a stern glare. "Guest," she addressed Arthur, "you must leave us to debate your case. Ivor will lead you to a place to stay until we reach our decision."  
  
A young boy came forward and bowed before Arthur. "This way, Honored Guest." Arthur bowed to the Council before turning and following the child.  
  
As he left the forest clearing the Council was in, the bustle of a small city engulfed him. Staring around him at the working Druids, he was surprised he hadn't previously heard the clamor as cooks banged cauldrons and ladles together, calling to rampant children.  
  
Ivor brought him to a stop in front of a small hostel on the edge of the settlement. "Wait here. If you leave, you forfeit your plea."  
  
Arthur nodded, "thank you." He ducked under the tarp doorway and surveyed the one-room house. In the corner, there was a scattering of hay covered by a thick layer of wool. Across from the bed, there was a pile of worn dished and cooking pots. The pack from his mare sat in a corner next to the bed. The center of the room was filled by a round, stone table and stumps of wood that served as chairs.  
  
All in all, the house reminded him of those he'd passed through as a child when his father allowed him to accompany the men that evaluated the state of the kingdom each year. There were differences, of course. Most of the places he'd been allowed inside had been nicer, homes of the wealthier peasants. Still, they had been simple dwellings and not unlike this one, though they were often a bit bigger. How curious, Arthur contemplated, that there would be such similarities between the people of Camelot and the Druids. It was unreal to be here, in a village that could belong to any culture, with people going about their lives just as they would anywhere else.  
  
Arthur sat on the makeshift bed for hours upon hours, idly sharpening his sword. None of the Druids would approach him, perhaps afraid of him or perhaps simply because the Council hadn't decided whether he was a friend yet. Either way, they wouldn't go near the little hut and so he had to entertain himself.  
  
When his sword had been sharpened to the point where he couldn't pretend continuing was doing any good, he pulled out a rag and a bottle of polish. It wouldn't be the first time he polished his own armor – riding out into battle didn't often afford the luxury of servants and Arthur had never had a squire – but he had to admit that even Merlin did a better job of it. However, he hadn't let anyone polish his armor before he left, afraid of raising questions about his destination before he was ready.  
  
It kept him busy, the task unfamiliar enough that it kept his mind from wandering. He was hardly halfway done when his stomach began to beg for food. Arthur glanced at the doorway. He was something of a prisoner here and the people did seem rather scared of him, so it was probably too much to expect that they feed him. After all, it wasn't as if he'd come unprepared. He had food, tucked away in his saddle bag, and he rose now to fetch it, setting the armor aside to finish later. It seemed he would have plenty of time.  
  
His mind wandered now, contemplating the future. If the Druids didn't decide to help him, would they kill him? They weren't a violent people and Arthur didn't technically know where their camp was yet. On the other hand, he was Arthur Pendragon. Many of them would probably love the chance to kill him, screw anti-violence teachings.  
  
Now, sitting here with his fate out of his hands, Arthur really wished he'd taken the chance to say goodbye, not only to Merlin, but to Guinevere, Morgana, and his father. He could just imagine how unhappy they were with him now. His father would be stewing with rage, probably coming up with the most suitable means of punishment.  
  
Arthur hoped it wouldn't be too bad. Yes, he'd abandoned his duties for who knew how long, but he'd had a good reason. Not that he could tell his father that reason, or anybody else, really. In fact, if Arthur got out of this alive, he'd probably gain a lot of experience in keeping secrets. At least he had his manservant to know what _not_ to do. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn't figured it out earlier. It was a miracle the entire court didn't know.  
  
But they didn't, and Arthur would do what he could to be sure that it stayed that way. He wouldn't lose Merlin, even if the Druids didn't agree. Somehow, even dead, he'd guarantee Merlin's safety. It was the least he could do considering how often Merlin had obviously protected him.  
  
\--  
  
At some point, he'd apparently fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, Ivor, the Druid who had shown him in, was standing in the doorway, giving him a sheepish look after having tripped over Arthur's pack.  
  
Arthur smiled, relaxing from his reflexive defense. It was a bit sad that any clumsy action reminded him of Merlin. "Yes?"  
  
"The Elders have reached a decision. Your presence is required."  
  
"Oh. Right," Arthur rose from his crouch, sheathing his knife in his boot once more. He paused a moment to pull on his chainmail and strap his sword around his waist. The boy didn't stop him, which was both reassuring and troubling. He didn't _want_ his sword taken away, but was his blade really so useless against their magic? "All right."  
  
"This way, then." The boy bowed slightly and led the way back to the clearing where the Council met. The village was quiet, night having long since fallen. The Council was calm, unmoving, their faces grim. Arthur swallowed. If they wanted to kill him, would they have done it while he'd been asleep and helpless? Then again, with their magic, maybe he was helpless no matter what.  
  
"Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot. The Council has considered your appeal. After great deliberation, it has been decided that this Council shall agree to your request. You are to work with the Council to determine the best way to get sorcerers out of Camelot."  
  
Arthur grinned in relief. "Of course," he bowed. "Thank you."  
  
\--  
  
"All right. We're going to need a means of communication, a safe passage out of Camelot, and..."  
  
"A way to provide for the refugees," Muirgen, the apparent leader of the Council spoke. "We will welcome them here, but we do not have a steady income. Everyone must work to get anything. The refugees must be willing to work for food, but even then, that still leaves everyone else needing to build them accommodations."  
  
"Yes, of course," Arthur nodded, "I can send them with money, supplies. If there are any towns you can enter discreetly, you could buy other supplies, but I understand that that puts you at risk. Let's see...I could send extra food every month, perhaps? A fresh hunt. I mean, it won't be fresh when it gets to you, but...I can bring it myself, if you'll allow. I would only be able to make the trip every few months to avoid suspicion, but I could bring game from Camelot's borders.  
  
"Also, that brings us to the problem of protecting your borders while making sure the refugees meet you. What way would there be to ensure that the people coming to you are sent by me? If they were waylaid and my crest found on them, this whole thing would fall apart around us."  
  
"Maybe a contract, some sort of paper? If you could sign it with an alias or something and instruct people to show it to sentinels in Druidic lands, then we would know to let them through," Wylt advised.  
  
"What would your alias be?" Muirgen asked.  
  
"Might I suggest," Generis, the woman who had been sitting to Muirgen's right in the Council, began, "that instead of a name, it be a crest. For instance, the crest of a coin. That belongs to no other, yes?"  
  
"No one that I know of," Arthur confirmed. "Why a coin, though?"  
  
Wylt laughed. "Oh, I see. Yes, that does fit with the prophecies." Arthur blinked at him. "Oh, no matter Young Pendragon. I'm sure you'll hear something about two-sided coins in your future."  
  
Weren't all coins two-sided? Arthur didn't ask, simply quirking an eyebrow. "Very well. A coin it is. I'll have to get a signet made."  
  
"There is a friend of the Druids in Camelot that could help you. He is a blacksmith living in the outer village and he could also serve as a contact for the refugees, if he is willing. If we station accomplices in key cities from here to Camelot, we should be able to create a safe path for refugees."  
  
"As for the communication method, might I propose the old and simple? A scrying glass made specifically for such instances." The Old Hag who'd lashed out at Arthur in the Council said.  
  
"But how would Pendragon be able to use it, Elder Wervela?"  
  
"Outfit him with a magic pendant of some such. Even if he can't use magic himself, he can still use an enchanted object."  
  
"That is true," Wylt agreed, "and I would imagine that a child begotten in so much magic would be able to easily act as a conduit."  
  
"Begotten in – ? What?"  
  
"Ah. Perhaps it is better someone else tell you that tale, Young Pendragon. May I suggest the dragon that lives below your dungeon?"  
  
" _Dragon_!? There's – ?" Arthur cleared his throat. "Nevermind. We should stay on topic. In regards to this scrying glass, how would it work and how much risk would there be that someone else receives the message?"  
  
"The scrying glass resembles a mirror. You would need to speak an enchantment to activate it – using an object to draw the power – and direct it who to address the message to; Wylt would be best, considering he's taken responsibility for you. If you are receiving a message, the glass will cloud. You must speak the enchantment in order to receive anything. Unless someone else knows the enchantment, they won't be able to hear the message, even if they should know that there is one."  
  
"All right. How long would it take to get these scrying glasses?"  
  
"Two nights. We need to make the mirrors and then enchant them."  
  
"In the meantime," another Elder, Gwilim, said, "we can contact friends of the Druids through messenger birds. This should help us work out this escape route of yours."  
  
Arthur nodded. “As much as I hope for this to prevent arrests, is there some way we can help the people that are apprehended? If they've been revealed as sorcerers, they may be able to escape themselves, but sympathizers and those wrongfully accused face the same sentence. I can't just break them out of the dungeons; that would look far too suspicious.”  
  
“Indeed,” Wylt said. “The goal is to prevent the loss of life. Neglecting those who face immediate death sentences would be unforgivable.”  
  
“But if Pendragon cannot free them, what options are there?” Wervela asked.  
  
There was a long moment of silence. People disappearing from the dungeons would make the King suspicious, and if it kept happening, he'd probably crack down on those suspected of magic, which would only make matters worse. But how else could they save people? If they'd already been caught, then they were kept in the dungeons until they were delivered to the executioner's block. Perhaps they could strike then, while the prisoner was on the move? But Arthur couldn't be involved, or he'd reveal himself, and realistically, anyone attempting such a thing might succeed once, possibly, but by they second time, the guards would be ready and they'd be caught and sentenced to death.  
  
“Is there some way to... I don't know, magically move prisoners from the executioner's block to here? Without making it obvious that they've vanished?” Arthur asked.  
  
“Relocation is advanced magic, and to safely move a living thing, the enchanter would have to be very near.” Generis shook her head. “And they'd have to be replaced somehow to hide their disappearance.” Arthur frowned. He couldn't see any other time a prisoner could be saved, but obviously that wasn't practical.  
  
“Perhaps an illusion?” Wylt said. “An illusion would be more sustainable, and adaptable. Prisoners could be removed from the dungeons ahead of time, and replaced with an illusion.”  
  
“A solid illusion, able to interact with guards dragging it to its death?” The rest of the Council gave Wylt skeptical looks. “A sorcerer powerful enough for that would never stay in Camelot.”  
  
Arthur bit his lip. He had no idea how powerful Merlin was. Anyway, he wouldn't get Merlin involved in this. If he was discovered, Arthur would get him out, but until then, it would be best to keep Merlin's lawbreaking to a minimum.  
  
“We are already giving the young Pendragon a magical amulet.” Muirgen said. “The amulet could be infused with such power. That would, of course, mean Pendragon must learn how to control illusions.”  
  
Her eyes met and held his own, and for a moment he felt as if he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The moment passed when the other elders protested and she broke her gaze. “That's possible? You can infuse that much power into a stone?”  
  
A number of the elders snorted dismissively. Wylt smiled, “we could.”  
  
Arthur, very suddenly, felt afraid. He'd been raised on tales of evil sorcerers with untold power, but they'd always been defeated by knights and kings. If they really had so much power, would even his knights stand a chance? They were the best in the land, but the easy confidence from the Druid Council made him doubt. Did his father realize how powerful his enemies were?  
  
Arthur shook his head to clear his thoughts. It didn't matter what his father thought. If the Druids were so powerful, then it meant his plan had a better chance of working. This was a good thing.  
  
“Elders Generis and Isolt, you will join me in creating an amulet.” Muirgen directed, "Elder Wervela, get started on the scrying glasses. Take whomever you need. Elder Gwilim, fetch the birds. Elder Wylt, gather a group to compose the letters. Run them by the Council before you send them. Elder Madoc, make a list of our contacts. Everyone else, carry on with your usual work. Our food isn't going to make itself."  
  
The next two days were filled with work. Arthur's part in composing the messages was mainly to convey who he was and what his purpose was without actually revealing who he was until they'd agreed to help him. It was harder than one would think. It had its rewards, though. The birds were definitely aided by magic because they took mere hours to return with replies from places days away. Arthur arranged to meet with each of the agreed contacts on the way back to Camelot to establish his goodwill and his new crest, the coin. After all, these people were risking their necks and they wanted to be sure they were doing it for the right people.  
  
Aside from the message work, Elder Isolt was apparently responsible for teaching him how to use illusions. Isolt had sat directly next to Muirgen in the Council, and he was pretty sure that meant she was very powerful. He certainly thought she was, considering she was able to place a hand on his shoulder and actually _give him magic_! It was temporary, and only worked as long as she was in direct contact with him, but it was still incredible. Part of him quailed at the thought of what his father would say if he ever found out, but a larger part of him was entranced. He, Arthur, was actually using magic, feeling power move through him and manifest in ways he commanded it! He wasn't very good at commanding it, but he was learning.  
  
When Isolt gave him breaks to recover, Arthur discovered that he had apparently been accepted amongst the Druid community. He ate meals with all of them and they nodded amiably to him as he passed, some even requesting his help and company with heavy lifting and the like.  
  
It was nice, being accepted for what he did instead of who he was. He would almost be sad to leave this place, but he knew he had to get back to Camelot. Merlin would be released from the dungeons before he returned and he had no doubt that his manservant would resent that. He also wondered how his father would be punishing him for his insubordination. It was unlikely he'd get off as easily as he always let Merlin off.  
  
The evening of his last day, Wervela came forward and presented him with an ornate mirror. The enchantment, she said, was written out for him, but in the interest of security, he would need to memorize it and burn the paper as soon as possible. Next, Muirgen summoned him before the three highest elders, herself, Isolt, and Generis. They bestowed upon him a necklace made purely from magic, an amber claw on a gold chain. Simple, but elegant enough for a royal to wear.  
  
“Grasp the amulet and speak the words I have taught you. The illusion you visualize will come into being. As long as the amulet is with you, the illusion will remain, until you dismiss it.”  
  
"Thank you," he bowed deeply and each of the women bowed in return. They all feasted together after that, a great deal of ale circulating to celebrate the new treaty between the Druids and the Prince of Camelot.  
  
\--  
  
The next morning, Arthur dearly wished that he'd gone easy on the ale. Apparently, magic did not necessarily provide hangover cures.  
  
Wylt woke him and helped him gather his supplies. "I will be escorting you outside of Druid lands so that we can plot a path back for your future use."  
  
"Of course. Thank you. By the way, I've been meaning to ask...how exactly does your seer's power work? If you don't mind answering, of course."  
  
"Not at all," Wylt shrugged, mounting his horse and leading Arthur out of the camp. "A seer's power is very unique. It comes to us in visions and dreams and is never wrong."  
  
"Dreams?" Arthur murmured to himself.  
  
"Although they are never wrong, the visions can be misleading. They only ever show us part of the picture. We have no way of knowing the outcome before it happens. We can assume, of course. For instance, if I see a man get stabbed, I could assume that he will die. If I see the son of a man hated by the Druids petitioning the Council of Elders, I can assume that he will be turned away. I may or may not be correct.  
  
"Because I see the visions, I may try to influence events to avoid my assumed conclusion. However, it is equally likely that my influence will lead to my assumed conclusion instead. When it comes to the future, anything can happen. All I know for certain is that what I see will pass, in some fashion."  
  
Arthur was silent, remembering nights filled with Morgana's night-terror-induced screams, her warnings about his safety often following the morning after. Could it be...?  
  
"How does someone become magic? Is it inherited or something?" Because there was no way Morgana had been studying magic under Uther's nose all these years.  
  
"Mmm, it's hard to say. People are born with magic. Some are born with a great deal of power that will manifest itself in odd happenings around the person or, in the case of a seer, visions. Others are born with the potential for magic, but it won't show itself until they train and incant spells. And then there are those that can train their entire lives and still never use a single spell.  
  
"You see, magic is as much a birthright as social power is, except that it doesn't appear to pass through bloodlines. Plenty of sorcerers are born to nonmagical parents and plenty of sorcerers have nonmagical children. There's just no real saying how magic is passed down. Does that answer your question?"  
  
"Yes, thank you." So Morgana hadn't studied magic. She may not even know that she was magic. Good. Maybe that would keep her safe longer. Still, Arthur would keep an eye on her like he would Merlin. If she was threatened, he would send her out through the escape route.  
  
\--  
  
He visited twelve people that would make up the escape route and instructed each of them to spread word, discreet and indirectly, through the rumor mill that if a sorcerer got into trouble of wanted to get out of Uther's kingdom, they should come to one of the contacts. And, even more discreetly, to tell people that Prince Arthur was sympathetic to sorcerers. That wouldn't ensure, of course, that all sorcerers in the kingdom found someone to help them out the escape route, but Arthur hoped that if a sorcerer got desperate enough, they would follow the gossip trail.  
  
The last person Arthur met with he found in the town on the very edge of the capital city. The man, Heylin, was the blacksmith the Druids had referred him to to make the new crest. So close to the castle, it wasn't really surprising that Heylin was so deferential, but Arthur found that he missed the easy practicality of both the Druids and his other contacts. Still, the man was pleasant enough and he had Arthur's crest done in record time, and Arthur was left with nothing standing between him and home. Or rather, between him and Uther's punishment.  
  
As he rode into the courtyard, scrying glass and crest tucked safely away in his pack, wrapped up in a tunic, and his magical pendant tucked under his chainmail. He was stopped immediately, guards informing him that they had orders to bring him straight to his father. As he followed them to the throne room, he noticed Gwen out of the corner of his eye, standing frozen with a laundry basket in her hands before she turned tail and ran off, no doubt to inform Merlin and Morgana.  
  
"I have a mind to have you flogged," Uther bellowed after he dismissed everyone but the guards. "What were you thinking? Abandoning your duties for a week and a half is _not_ going to give anyone faith in you! And you will need faith to become King, Arthur, if indeed we can trust that you won't run away from that!" Arthur flinched. "Where were you?"  
  
"Out riding," Arthur shrugged, keeping his eyes lowered.  
  
Uther growled, "for your insolence and your dereliction of duty, you will be given ten lashes, a day in the stocks, and a week in the dungeons. Is that clear?"  
  
"Yes, sire," Arthur bowed. It was a harsh punishment, but he'd expected that. Still, flogging was usually reserved for the truly serious crimes and the stocks? Really? He rather doubted that anyone would have the guts to throw rotten fruit at their future king. Especially after he'd just been whipped.  
  
The guards came forward and dragged him away. The flogging would be private, at least. The last thing he needed was his people looking upon his bloodiest punishment. The stocks and dungeons were moderately harmless. Humiliating, but people would forget about it within a month, when newer pieces of gossip came up. Witnessing a whipping, though, that stayed with a person for a long time, even if they didn't speak of it.  
  
He managed not to cry out in pain even once, his jaw locked so tight that he'd been half afraid it would be stuck that way. Morgana, Gwen, Merlin, and Gaius had arrived during the flogging, the latter two there to tend to the lashes on his back. The former two, as far as Arthur could tell with his thoughts overwhelmed with pain, were mostly only there because the guards were afraid to tell Morgana off.  
  
As soon as the last lash was given, Merlin and Gwen hurried forward, supporting his arms and carrying him to Gaius's chambers as Gaius walked a step behind them, inspecting what he could with his eyes. Arthur's bags and armor had been dropped off in his chambers already, but his tunic, which had been discarded before the whipping, was carried in Merlin's hand and kept brushing against Arthur's wrist with every step. The magic necklace bumped against his chest with each step and was strangely reassuring.  
  
"Gods, you idiot!" Morgana hissed, "you had to have known that Uther would do something harsh! Why would you just leave?"  
  
"Worth th'price," Arthur slurred. His eyelids fluttered and consciousness was starting to slip under that pain. The last thing he remembered was being lowered stomach-down onto a table, gentle hands cradling his head and keeping his nose from mashing into the wood.  
  
\--  
  
Waking up in the stocks was not a pleasant experience. His back ached, both from the whipping and the position, and his tunic was stuck to the gashes, tugging at them as he shifted. Fortunately, he was right about no one daring to throw anything at him. His knights were also scattered around the market place, stationed where they could move immediately to defend him if there was a threat.  
  
Someone must've told Morgana that he'd awoken, because ten minutes later, she was matching up to the stocks, glaring at him. "I don't know what you think was worth the price of this punishment, but I want to know how you could leave Merlin stuck in the dungeons and just run off. It's not like you."  
  
"Would you believe me if I told you I had a good reason?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then I won't bother to say it. Would you mind scratching my forehead for me? Afraid I can't reach," he flexed his wrists in the shackles.  
  
She smacked him instead, lightly, though. "Just because I won't believe it doesn't mean I don't want to hear it! You left Merlin thinking it was somehow his fault that you buggered off and now he's practically dying of guilt. He's been stuck without a master for three days and will be for another week, but he can't even enjoy it because he's so worried about you, you insufferable ass!"  
  
"Look, I...apologize, all right? I didn't mean to worry anyone, but there was something I had to do. You're the one that keeps telling me to do the right thing and damn the consequences."  
  
"And just what did you do right? Because the right thing, Arthur, would've been to get Merlin out of prison, or at least to visit him, or, heaven forbid, be there for him when he gets out. So tell me, where did you do the right thing?"  
  
Arthur sighed. "Believe me, Morgana, if you find out, then nothing good is happening. For now, just let it be, because I won't be telling you."  
  
"You arse! Can't you even have the decency to provide Merlin with the reason he's suffering through all this guilt?"  
  
"You aren't Merlin. And I didn't mean to make him guilty. You can tell him, it's not his fault at all." Because it wasn't, really. Yeah, he'd gone to the Druids to protect Merlin, but finding out about Merlin's magic had really just been the catalyst. This had been about doing the right thing and protecting his people from persecution. He was definitely going to make sure that Merlin - and Morgana - was protected, but it extended to all his people. He was their prince, after all. It was his job to keep them safe.  
  
\--  
  
Logically, he'd always known that being locked in the stocks must be atrociously boring. Still, it wasn't until he was locked up within them himself that he truly comprehended that. At least when Merlin was locked up, people would interact with him, carefully picking the rottenest fruit to throw. But with Arthur, no one even approached the stocks if they could help it. The villagers all edged around it, keeping as much distance as they could. The knights were there, but none approached, either believing that he wanted space for his humiliation or just that dedicated to the job. Although, really, he wouldn't be surprised if they thought he would slaughter them when he got out, simply for bearing witness to his shame. Arthur wasn't known for being reasonable when pride was involved. He wished he could resent them for expecting him to blame his mistakes on them, but he'd done it before and how were they to know that he'd changed, that he'd be taking responsibility for everything now?  
  
The sun had been newly risen when he'd woken up locked in the stocks. It wasn't until it was high in the sky that Merlin emerged from the castle to visit him.  
  
"I am so sorry," was the first thing he said.  
  
"What for?" Arthur inquired, idly inspecting his fingernails as if he could actually see them from his vantage point.  
  
"For all...this," he waved vaguely around Arthur's back.  
  
"You know, Merlin, not everything is about you. Some things, as a matter of fact, have nothing to do with you. This punishment is one of those things." Merlin was silent, his head bowed. "Merlin, I'm serious. It's not your fault I went off and angered my father."  
  
"Then why did you?" Merlin's voice was suspiciously thick. Dear gods, was he _crying_?  
  
"It was something I had to do." He hesitated, "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel guilty. It really isn't your fault."  
  
Merlin didn't respond, but Arthur could see his Adam's Apple bob multiple times. "I...um, yeah, okay. Your, uh, how's your back? I'm sure it hurts. I'll go get Gaius, shall I? Yeah, um, be right back, okay?" And he shot off, vanishing into the castle.  
  
When Merlin returned a while later, Gaius and a guard in tow, his eyes were red-rimmed, but a smile was on his face. Gaius ordered the guard to let Arthur out and Merlin supported him while Gaius checked him for fever, infection, and pulse regularity. "I'll come by this evening to bandage the wounds; it's better to let them air for now. In the meantime, drink this tea. It will help replenish lost blood and the willow bark should relieve some of the pain." He held a cup to Arthur's mouth and the prince obediently swallowed it down before he had time to process the smell or taste.  
  
"Ugh," he groaned, slumping against Merlin. He straightened almost immediately, though. His people and his knights were watching him and he would not let them see him so weak. Reputation was a fragile thing and if they saw him as weak, he'd have a hard time changing their minds. And no one wanted a weak king.  
  
If Merlin noticed his moment of weakness, he didn't comment. Instead, he locked his arms solidly around Arthur, keeping him close. His hands slid over the lacerations on Arthur's back, strangely warm. The pain began to recede immediately. If Arthur hadn't been so relieved, he'd have cursed Merlin for being so bloody obvious. If anyone else had noticed him casting a spell, what would he do? Arthur wouldn't be able to get him out of Camelot, not while he was locked away. "Idiot," he muttered, hands fisting in Merlin's tunic briefly.  
  
As Arthur was pulled back and shifted to accommodate the stocks, he caught sight of Merlin's grin. Arthur returned it with a feeble smile before the stocks locked into place.  
  
\--  
  
The dungeons were a luxury after the stocks. His father had him put in the nicer end of the dungeons, where the hay was changed regularly. There was even a pillow, for his face, since he had to lie on his stomach.  
  
As promised, Gaius came by sometime after he assumed the sun had set and dressed his wounds. "It will take a while for you to be able to go about your duties, I'm afraid."  
  
"Well, I'm not going anywhere. How long d'you think, exactly?"  
  
"It's hard to say. Knowing you, you won't stay put as long as I prescribe."  
  
Arthur smiled, a contained upturn of his lips. "I do have a job to do."  
  
Gaius's eyebrow shot up. "And yet..."  
  
"I left. Yes," Arthur sighed. "There was a reason for it, I swear."  
  
"Indeed. And I can expect you not to reveal it, I suppose. I thank you, however, for letting Merlin know that he was not responsible."  
  
Arthur pressed his forehead against the pillow. "I didn't expect him to react like that. I apologize for any grief my oversight may have put you through."  
  
Gaius was silent above him, staring in shock. Arthur frowned. Was it so surprising that he was capable of accepting responsibility?Yes, he'd avoided doing so before, but really, where was the faith in him?  
  
The physician cleared his throat. "Your father has forbidden visitors, save for myself twice a day. If you have any discomfort with your wounds at a time when I am not present, inform the guards and they will fetch me. The King has allowed my presence in the case of extenuating circumstances." He sighed, "I know you prefer to suffer in silence, sire, but considering the nature of your injuries, I would ask that you please have the guards summon me if something happens."  
  
"Fine," Arthur agreed, his voice muffled by the pillow.  
  
With nothing left to say, Gaius bowed to the sprawled form of his prince and departed. Arthur could hear the silence setting in as the echoes of his footsteps faded. The guards wouldn't even joke and play around as he knew they often did. He sighed. It would be a long week.  
  
\--  
  
He was wrong. “Long” didn't even hit close to the reality. The days dragged on and on, even when he spent most of them sleeping under Gaius's medicinal drafts – to help his body recover from the whipping while he was in enforced inactivity.  
  
While stuck in the dungeons, Arthur realized a couple of things. 1) Gaius _really_ didn't trust him with his own health; 2) The guards were apparently a lot more frightened of him than he had originally thought; and 3) He actually really missed Merlin and, somehow, Morgana. He wasn't used to recognizing loneliness if it was present, but his distance from his friends in the past week and now his isolation here were letting him know that yeah, he did actually really miss them.  
  
He also discovered that having too much time to think about the fact that he cared quite a bit about his manservant and his (as-good-as) sister left him uncomfortable and defensive with no one to lash out at. Miraculously, he'd managed to resist taking it out on the guards, because the last thing he needed was them being even more afraid of him, but it was a close call.  
  
Finally, though, _finally_ , his sentence came to an end and his father appeared in person to let him out.  
  
"I trust you've learned your lesson."  
  
Arthur bowed his head, "yes, Father."  
  
"Good. If you ever abandon your duties again, I will not be so lenient."  
  
"Yes, sire. I understand."  
  
"Dismissed." Uther turned his back on him and left. Arthur rose gingerly from his perch and scowled. His father hadn't even stopped to check if his back wounds had incapacitated him. He stomped out. If he never saw the dungeons again, it would be too soon.  
  
As he passed through the hallways, servants hurried to get out of his way, looking on him with something resembling pity. Arthur grit his teeth. He didn't want their pity; he didn't want anything from them but simple loyalty to their liege. Was it too much to ask that they ignore his punishment without making it more humiliating for him?  
  
Merlin was waiting for him in his chambers, clean clothes and a bath already prepared. "Gaius said hot water would do your back good."  
  
Arthur nodded, reaching to unlace his tunic, but Merlin slapped his hands away and deftly undid the ties. "The entire castle has been up in arms about your punishment," Merlin began, timid, but with all the insolence Arthur had come to expect from him. "People can't decide whether it was fair or not. Some people keep bringing up the possibility of an attack while you were away while others cite how that didn't happen and how you deserve a vacation occasionally. Although, I dunno what they think those hunting trips are, because they always seemed to be vacations to me. But yeah, the rumor mill is going crazy with stories about what you did and why you did it. If they were to be believed, then you have seven illegitimate children that you went to either visit or kill. The rumors weren't real clear on that bit."  
  
Arthur snorted, "good to know you haven't forgotten how to speak, Merlin, but the bath is cooling and you're expected to clean my back. Besides, you know I could care less about gossip. They never get it right, anyway."  
  
Merlin reached for a soft cloth to use. "Well, I dunno about that. Every once in a while, they'll have surprising insight. And you can always trust the cooks to know first if something happens. Getting the information from them, of course, is another matter, and Old Nell does tend to embellish things a lot, but they're mostly accurate."  
  
"Embellish? That's a big word for you, Merlin."  
  
"Oh shut up. I'm trying to make a point here. Gossip isn't _always_ wrong. Just, well, often. Less often than you'd think, though."  
  
"Merlin, gossip had you pegged as the King's illegitimate child. Apparently, that's how you've managed to last so long at Court."  
  
"Yeah, but they have me as older than you in that scenario, so hey, they get stuff right here and there."  
  
"You are _not_ older than me. You're too scrawny."  
  
"I've always been like this! Just because I don't train ridiculously like you does not mean I'm younger. Just...leaner. Or something."  
  
"Something," Arthur chuckled as the conversation fell away comfortably. "You never said," he broke the silence, "how you viewed the punishment."  
  
"Oh. Um...well, I think you're stupid. Really, who goes off that long without telling anyone where they're going? What if you died and we didn't find out about it for ages? You should've waited until I was out of the dungeons and brought me with you or at least taken a couple of knights. But..." Merlin swallowed, hands splayed over the cuts on his back, "I don't think the punishment was fair."  
  
"Mm. It wasn't meant to be fair. It was meant to serve as a lasting lesson."  
  
"Did it work?"  
  
"In the way my father intended? Probably not." He didn't elaborate even though he could feel Merlin's inquiring gaze. "Fetch Gaius, would you? I want to know when I can start training again."  
  
Merlin sighed, fingers dragging against his skin as he pulled away. "Just stay in the tub. It'll be a lot longer if you hurt yourself getting out of something."  
  
"Yes, Merlin. Believe it or not, I'm not a _child_." Merlin left, muttering some probably treasonous remarks.  
  
Arthur smiled and leaned back carefully. Things would return to normal soon enough, and then he'd be able to start cautiously spreading word about escape routes for sorcerers. He only hoped no one would find themselves on the chopping block before he was ready to save them.


End file.
